SNAFU: The Amateur Tournament
by Isotrope
Summary: Everyone knows the big names like Blitz and Fluegel...but what about the minor leagues? This is the story of the E-rank amateur division - rickety machines, deranged pilots hungry for glory, quick destruction and improvised tactics. Read on!
1. Of Sinking Scholarships

_Disclaimer: I don't own Zoids, nor any other brand names I may slip in._

Overall, Vic Douglas was having a good day.

He'd just come back from his Christmas holiday, and unpacked most of his new stuff in his dorm room. Not many students at the prestigious New Helic Technical College were as happy as he to be back for another semester. NHT had a well-deserved reputation for being a staggeringly difficult school to excel in, and the high numbers of students that flunked out proved this.

Vic was content to simply survive another semester at NHT. He was physics major, and had already had sufficient calculus courses shoved down his throat to ensure he'd be passing line integral feces for months. Now he was going to be getting into the good stuff; the real honest-to-God physics.

Maybe he'd wind up in one of the major corporations like diVossi Industries, or possibly become a lead researcher for the Zoids Battle Commission. Not that he particularly cared about Zoids, but they were the most tightly packaged bundle of techie opportunities to be had at the moment, and Vic could get himself a steady job as a physicist. Things were looking up indeed.

His wonderful day, however, was rather shattered when he checked the course listings and didn't find "VICTOR DOUGLAS" anywhere. Not that he was particularly keen on his name appearing _anywhere_, for that matter. Vic never liked his first name, it sounded too much like some clichéd villain or something, hence he emphasized "Vic."

Of more pressing concern was why he wasn't listed in any of his courses. He promptly marched up to the Dean's office and waited patiently outside for the old man to get off the phone.

"Come in, Mr…"

"Douglas, sir."

"Yes, come in."

Vic did so, sitting down in a large, sumptuous leather chair that nonetheless managed to make him extremely uncomfortable. "I'm noticing that I'm no longer enrolled in my classes."

"Yes, this is true. Mr. Douglas, I'm sorry to say that you've lost your scholarship."

Vic goggled. "B, uh, wait, _what?!_" he stammered.

The dean adjusted his glasses.

"Mr. Douglas, mediocrity is not something that New Helic's taxpayers want their money going towards. The criteria for scholarship have been altered to reflect that. Your grade point average is simply not the sort of thing says "excellence." Surely you understand where we come from on this issue."

Vic was shocked nearly speechless. "B, but I'm a _physics_ major. That's the hardest major we have."

The Dean stared back through bleary eyes. "Regardless, by attending New Helic Tech, you are competing against the brightest students on Zi for a full ride. I'm sure someone more capable will appreciate the money invested more than you, Mr. Douglas. If you'll excuse me, I must take a call."

Vic numbly excused himself from the Dean's office and made his way to the food court. He mechanically threw a few pieces of food on his tray, paid and plunked down to eat and think.

Without a full ride scholarship to New Helic, neither he nor any of his family could possibly afford to pay for his tuition. And he needed to pay for three more semesters. No job an unskilled guy like himself could get could pay for two full-time semesters per year, nor was there any real way to get money fast.

Vic looked down and realized he'd eaten all the food on his tray without even realizing what it was in the first place. Oh well. He put his tray away and went to his room to pack up.

On his way down the halls, a flier on a bulletin board caught his eye, and the skinny physics major peered down at it.

"Hmm…Zoid pilots wanted for Class E competition…study by day, battle by night. Earn the big bucks to pay your way through college. Interested pilots apply at your local ZBC office."

Already a plan was beginning to form in Vic's head. He grabbed the flier and headed resolutely back to his room.

* * *

_Two hours later…_

New Helic City was abuzz with late-afternoon traffic. On either side of the massive roadways, Zoids and vehicles alike sped by in the waning commotion of the rush hour. Gustavs hauled giant trailers as smaller Zoids like Sinkers and Molgas sped round the lumbering isopod-types. A skinny 22-year old ex-college student watched them from behind chocolate-brown eyes as he waited at a bus stop.

_Now that's what I need_, thought Vic, watching a Molga pull away from the sidewalk. _It's tough, doesn't look too hard to maintain, and I can drive it around town._

The small, wheeled caterpillar soon joined the flow of traffic, though, and that particular one was lost from sight. Two more followed it; Molgas in New Helic were everywhere you turned. Their rugged design and adaptability, not to mention their low cost, earned them many fans - if not many competitive pilots. Molgas required more than a few aftermarket modifications to really compete in gladiator matches.

The bus arrived, a blue-and-white-painted Gustav pulling a matching trailer. Unlike the squarish freight boxes usually seen, the bus trailer had an observation deck and sides lined with windows. Vic paid his toll and sat down, checking the route as the bus pulled away into traffic.

En route, he heard a few overzealous teenage girls chattering about a real ace pilot, named Bit Cloud. He'd heard the name before, just not paid much attention to Zoid battling.

Apparently, the guy was a big star or something.

* * *

The bus reached his stop, and Vic egressed to a part of town he thought he'd never visit: Zoid Strip. A bustling area flooded with pilots and fans of the popular sport, Zoid Strip was home to dealerships and merchandise shops alike all making loads of cash off Zoid battling.

Vic stuffed his hands in his pockets and wandered down the sidewalk, passing a few kids all wearing foam hats shaped like popular Zoids' heads. Farther down, a merchant hawked battery-powered model kits based off the giant machines. 

_Those'll never catch on_, thought Vic, watching a pint-sized plastic Gojulas lumber around roaring and flashing its eyes.

The dealerships weren't any better. Lots of them parked huge, flashy Zoids out front clearly meant for big spenders, like the giant, hulking Dark Horns, or the lean cheetah-like Lightning Saixes.

Vic moved on to a slightly less glitzy section of Zoid Strip, where most of the used Zoid dealerships were. He pulled his credcard out and checked his account balance; a couple thousand was all he had, and he still needed to eat.

"Guess there's no harm in looking," Vic muttered, entering a lot. The sign was ringed with plastic flowers and two cartoon Shield Ligers wearing leis grinning idiotically.

Vic jumped back as an obnoxiously gaudy stag-beetle Zoid zoomed up and landed before him. The man driving it could only have been the used-Zoid dealer, who jumped out wearing a Hawaiian shirt and shorts, even in January.

"Huh-hay, customer," the dealer shrieked. "What can I help you with? No credit? Bad credit? Busted Zoid and need to battle? Here at Loopy Larry's Liger Luau, it's a low-price luau all year long!"

Vic gave the poor guy credit for effort, at least. "Er, you have anything under five thousand?"

Loopy Larry didn't miss a beat. "Sure, we'll let you have that fabulous Gojulas over there for only $3,000 plus financing!"

Vic looked over at an absolutely monstrous Zoid, modeled after Godzilla, towering over nearly everything with monstrous cannons sticking out of it at every angle.

"Really?"

Larry's grin changed to a patronizing smirk, plainly marking Vic's IQ down as only slightly above "tapioca pudding."

"Kid, seriously? Come on, you'll never find a Zoid for under five grand. Git outta here!"

The ex-physics student left in a huff, his mood thoroughly soured. On his way out, he checked the Gojulas' price tag.

"One hundred fifty thousand. I'm never gonna find a Zoid."


	2. Shell Shock

_Chapter Two: Shell Shock_

_Disclaimer: I still don't own Zoids. Or much of anything else, for that matter._

_

* * *

  
_

Two used-Zoid dealerships later, Vic Douglas was running out of hope. Big John and Crazy Al both laughed in his face much like Loopy Larry after he had asked about a Zoid priced under five thousand. The best he'd found so far was a Molga with mangled wheels and a cowardly temperament for ten thousand, but that was almost twice his bank account.

He plodded on, increasingly convinced that there was no way he'd pay for three more semesters and finish his physics studies.

Of course, he had one last used-Zoid lot to go, fittingly dubbed "Last Chance Zoids."

A dumpy lot with a sheet-metal shack for an office, Last Chance Zoids was clearly the cheapest, crappiest place you could buy a Zoid. Its name came from it being the last stop for a beat-up old Zoid before it was sent to the scrapyard, stripped apart, and sold as junk. The evening had begun to fall when Vic entered, looking at their tiny Zoid selection. In fact, there were only five Zoids parked there, and another was being loaded onto the back of a Gustav as he entered.

A jaundiced old man came out of the shack and approached Vic. "Yeah? What c'n I do ye fer?"

Vic glanced at the Zoids. "What can you tell me about these things?"

The old man hobbled over to the first, a giant Shield Liger. "This'un killed 'is own pilot. I've shut 'im off fer the time bein', but that don't mean he might not wake up an' be yer friend."

He gave Vic a positively evil grin.

Vic took a step back from the psychotic Liger. The scrap dealer continued.

"I'll let 'im go fer 15 grand, since 'e's still a Liger'n all."

Vic still didn't like the sound of the Liger. Besides, it was still out of his price range. "What about this one?" he said, gesturing to the next Zoid, a black rhinoceros-type.

"This ol' Black Rhimos? Ye'd better just get yerself a new Zoid fer the amount it'll take to fix that 'un up. Still, I'll let it go fer eight thousand."

Still too much, especially for a non-functioning Zoid. Vic moved to a bipedal zoid, like a pint-size Godzilla, that looked in fairly good condition. "And this one?"

The old man glanced at the miniature Gojulas-type. "'E's a good Zoid, so I s'pose ye could have 'im fer ten grand."

Vic practically choked. Ten thousand was still too much.

The next two Zoids turned out to be duds as well, the first one a three-legged Saber Tiger for seventeen thousand ("Good as new! Just get 'im another leg!"), and a velociraptor-like Gunsniper missing its tail and arms ("Sure 'e falls, but ye don't have to spend money on sniper shells!") for nine thousand.

Vic was just out of luck. No Zoid he saw was within his price range. He turned to walk out…

…and he spotted the Zoid from earlier, still getting loaded onto the scrap trailer. A roundish hulk, it strained against the cranes and magnetic winches while the scrap crew cursed and yelled.

Vic couldn't quite make out what it was, but it was worth a shot.

"Hey, what about that thing?"

"That old rust bucket?" laughed the old man. "That's a Malder. Stubborn as a mule, missin' most weapons, drive doesn't work too well. Scrapyard's givin' me five thousan' fer it."

It hit Vic like a thunderbolt. "Wait! I can give you…uh, six thousand for it. Three up front and three later." He didn't know what a Malder was, just that it was a Zoid, and you had to have a Zoid to battle."

"_It's also the only thing I can afford," _he muttered to himself, out of earshot.

The old man yelled at the workers, showing yellowed, cracking incisors. "All righty, boys, bring out the ol' Malder fer the customer!"

The men attempting to load the Malder onto the transport sighed with relief, as the Zoid had stubbornly refused to budge.

"Thought I gave ye the remote!" yelled the proprietor.

"You did," wheezed one of the men, "but it won't listen. Just get rid of the damn stubborn thing."

While they were talking, Vic had walked over to the Zoid. It was, in fact, a gigantic snail a good two stories tall. Its shell was a dull, unpainted gray, though there were a few flecks of the original silver paint on it. The head, as well, was the base teal primer color. It certainly wasn't the biggest Zoid out there, but it looked like the only one he could afford.

"What can you tell me about this thing?" he asked.

The awful old man took a breath.

"Well, 'e's a stubborn stupid git of a Zoid who won't do anythin' unless 'e feels like it. That there's a pop-out mortar launcher," he said, pointing to a seam on the front of the shell, "but it's gone, so ye have to buy yer own mortar. Same with the beam guns on the side. They're non functional, an' the electronics are gone. Only things that work are the damn pulse lasers and the drive system. This zoid's basically a shitload o' armor an' two little popguns. Still want the old bastard?"

"Mind if I take it for a test drive first?"

"Go fer it."

With some irony, Vic noted that while the old man and the scrapyard crew did take cover behind a few blast shields, they didn't bother closing the gate. Apparently, the codger figured there was only so far you could get in a stolen snail.

Victor Douglas was no thief, especially not one dumb enough to swipe a Malder. He approached the thing the same way he did a physics lab, sizing it up, looking the snail completely over before even touching it.

Of course, when he did, he was met by the same response he'd expected: the Zoid just sat there.

Not having any experience whatsoever with Zoids, he didn't know if this thing was brain-dead or just watching him, or if it even had minimal intelligence.

"Isn't there a remote or something for this thing?" he asked the workers.

"Oh, yeah, 'ere you go," said the junkyard worker absentmindedly, tossing the remote to the student.

He caught it and immediately felt as clueless as before, considering the remote was just an array of buttons with no labels.

_Hmm._

After pressing a few and having nothing happen, along with one that caused the snail to wiggle its antennae for no discernibly logical reason, a large blue one caused the Zoid to extend its head out. The upper part of the head flipped up like an opaque visor, allowing him to climb in.

The first thing he noticed was that he wasn't really much farther off the ground than he thought he'd be. The land snail's head was nearly flush with the ground, though it seemed to have solid structure underneath it, judging by the thick supports underneath his seat. Said seat wasn't as old and ratty as he expected, but it was still very old, and very ratty.

Vic laughed to himself._ At least it's broken in_.

The cockpit wasn't very easy to see from, either, with only a small green transparent strip before him, and he was sitting in a fairly reclined position. _Maybe it's got some sort of heads' up display_, he thought, grasping the control yoke in front of him. It was almost ironic that the snail's cockpit was oriented in much the same way as a fighter aircraft, considering its sluggish nature.

Vic closed the canopy and was surrounded by blackness for a second before a blue fluorescent light buzzed to life, illuminating the small area in a strange glow.

The Zoid was fairly dormant, but he had a feeling that was about to change once he activated the engines. He found the aircraft-style throttle and, behind it, a steel key in the ignition.

He turned it.

Well, at least he was right on one count. The snail awoke and waved its head around a little, various buttons and displays flickering on in the buzzing blue light of the old cockpit. The engines refused to start, though, and Vic had a feeling that the Zoid was just being stubborn. He took a gamble and tried to persuade what may have been just a stupid machine.

"Look, Malder, I need a Zoid, and I picked you. That means that if you're a functioning Zoid in good standing, I'll take you. If you're not a functioning Zoid, then I'm leaving and finding another. And you get a trip to the scrapyard."

Well, at least it got a response. A cracked video screen flickered to life before him, and replayed his _exact_ conversation with the old man:

"_Hey, what about that thing?"_

"_That old rust bucket? That's an old Malder. Stubborn as a mule, missin' most weapons, drive doesn't work too well. Scrapyard's givin' me five grand fer it."_

"_Wait! I can give you…uh, six thousand for it. Three up front and three later." _

And then, amplified by the Malder's sensor equipment, Vic heard himself mutter "_It's also the only thing I can afford…"_

Big mistake, apparently. "You're not as dumb as you look," he admitted.

The snail responded with an electronic tone of sorts, reminiscent of something one would hear mashed on an old MIDI keyboard. Vic didn't know if the thing was talking or just laughing at him, but he argued with it nonetheless, admittedly feeling a little silly for doing so with a two-story mechanical snail.

"Well, it still gets you out of here. And I intend on taking you straight back if you give me too much trouble. So how about you start the engines?"

The engines rumbled to life almost with a dejected sigh, and Vic eased forward on the throttle. The snail inched forwards ever so slightly.

He pushed the throttle to halfway, and the metal gastropod accelerated to about twenty miles per hour. _Thing's not fast, but then again, it's a snail, and it's all I can make do with at the moment._

He eased the yoke around, and the Zoid responded much like a car. A car, however, that felt like moving in a sinusoidal wave motion. The Malder not only went forwards, but moved its head a little back and forth and up and down in the process.

"Wonder how well this thing's lasers work…" Vic mused, and immediately regretted it.

The only functional weapons on the snail were situated on the right side of the large, circular shell on a vertical turret.

Immediately, a creaky old targeting computer popped up and displayed the psychotic Shield Liger within a blinking red reticule.

"Agh!" yelled Vic, jumping back in his seat.

Luckily, he pulled the yoke with him.

Said yoke, apparently, turned out to be the axis control for the lasers. A burst of light at a 45-degree angle from the ground told him that he had indeed missed the Shield Liger, and most likely spared himself from death at the hands (or rather, claws and teeth) of a 90-ton psychotic war machine.

Feeling satisfied in the Zoid's capabilities (or rather, the most capabilities he was going to get for a measly six large), the soon-to-be-broke Vic Douglas stopped the Malder a few yards from the old man and popped the cockpit open.

"Think I'll take it. Three now and three later?"

The old man shook his head. "_All _of it now."

Vic scratched the back of his brown-haired head pensively. "Er, I'll give you three and a half now, and the rest later."

The old man turned to the workers. "Get this rust bucket ter the scrapyard. This fellow ain't interested."

"W, wait!" stammered Vic, nervously removing his wallet. "F, five now and one later. That's as high as I can go."

The old man grinned through those yellow teeth. "Deal."

Vic knew he'd been out-haggled by the old man, and the old man knew he knew it. He filled out the paperwork in the sheet-metal office, swiped his card with that of the old man, and was instantly five thousand credits poorer.

"Nice doin' business with ye."

"Urgh…er, yeah, I guess," replied Vic dazedly, wondering how he was going to eat for the next month.

* * *

_End o' chapter two! As always, hope you enjoyed it, leave a review, and I'll see you next time!_


	3. The Rat Race Begins

_Chapter Three: The Rat Race Begins_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Zoids._

_

* * *

  
_

Tuesday afternoon found Victor Douglas was filling out more paperwork, signing up for the Class E Amateur Zoid Battling Competition. The nearest office he could find was unfortunately down on Zoid Strip, which meant that it was an absolute zoo of screaming kids, haughty new pilots, and other types that followed the sport around.

In addition to welcoming the new pilots, most of the fans were here to see a celebrity. A veteran pilot of Class S, Harry Champ the Dark Horn pilot was there, accompanied by a pair of bodyguards looking more like fleshy midget Iron Kongs than human beings. Champ soaked up the attention like a sponge to water, occasionally posing for a picture with a kid or two, or shaking a hand.

Vic had to be the only one in there who didn't really grasp how big of a star the guy was, but then again, the names "Bit Cloud," "Brad Hunter," and "Vega Obscura" were equally foreign to him. He was just a college kid battling for some quick cash, and never really expected to get anywh-

"You gonna sign up or not, kid?"

Vic refocused his attention to the table in front of him. While he'd been pontificating, the line had moved up, and now he was next.

"Er, oh, yeah." He stepped forward and began filling out the paperwork, muttering to himself as he went.

"Hmm, name, Victor Douglas…nickname "Vic." Zoid…Malder, I think it was. Previous Battles? Well, that's a big zero…"

Soon enough, he had the paperwork completed, and handed it to the lady sitting at the table. She handed him a keychain modeled after a weird finned lizard Zoid. "Er, thanks."

No sooner had Victor Douglas taken two steps than he found himself face-to-face with a pair of bloodshot eyes beneath a shaggy mane of unkempt brown hair, all against a pale white face.

"Zuh?" was all he managed.

"What's your call sign, Warrior?" hissed the unpleasant individual, apparently every stereotype of "Zoid roadie" rolled into one.

Vic took a step back. This guy was obviously rather alarming, but it sort of stopped after that. He actually used deodorant, and he brushed his teeth, so most likely the guy was just another off-kilter Zoid pilot looking for attention.

"Um, my name's Victor Douglas," he offered.

"Veeec-torrrr," said the guy, in a cheesy vampire accent. The man before him bared his teeth, revealing a pair of pop-on vampire fangs. Though creepy, he was obviously mostly harmless if he tried to intimidate people with only a cheap pair of fangs and a shaggy haircut.

"No," hissed Fangs, "your call sign. So I shall know you when we face off on the battlefield!"

"Like a nickname? You can call me "Vic," I guess."

"You are not a true warrior without a call sign! I shall see you on the battlefield!"

With what was quite possibly the most cheesily hilarious vampire face ever, and a cloak-assisted sweeping turn (Vic admitted this part was fairly well done), the odd guy was off. Watching him, he figured the guy couldn't possibly be more than Vic's own age, just a little weirder.

Some pilots, apparently, got a little too far into this whole challenging and battling thing.

A door opened in the back of the jammed room and a man stepped out wearing a ZBC T-shirt and black jeans. He blew on a whistle and the room stopped moving.

"All new pilots please proceed into the briefing room!"

Vic complied.

The briefing room was a large ordeal, sort of reminiscent of a terraced half-clamshell, with the podium down at the bottom, and ascending rows of desks fanning out as one went farther back. Vic picked a rather unobtrusive spot near the middle.

Once everyone finished filing in, Vic took the opportunity to scan the room over. Most of the pilots hanging around were high schoolers somehow having gotten their hands on a Zoid, or the occasional bored college student, or possibly a hard-luck ex-businessman or somebody's father looking for a quick buck to pay the bills. _Kinda like me_, he thought with a smile, despite the fact that he barely knew how to steer the freaking thing, much less defeat somebody with it. No matter, because Vic was an optimist and most things in life tended to work out for the best with a little patience.

A large view-screen descended from above the podium, and the lights dimmed. A familiar blond-haired face lit up the screen with a big smile, causing a few teeny-boppers to squeal in delight.

"Hiya, everyone," said the giant, grinning mug of Bit Cloud, "and welcome to the sport of Zoid battling."

The camera panned back a bit to show Bit in the traditional Blitz team uniform he so rarely wore, leaning against the side of a monstrous white Zoid vaguely resembling a lion, or a tiger, or some weird mix of the two. The hushed whispers of "Liger Zero! Liger Zero!" all around him clued Vic in to the huge machine's identity.

"Zoid battling is an exciting and dangerous sport," said Bit. "Ain't that right, Liger?"

The Liger answered with an inspiring roar.

"We do have some rules, though," he chuckled from behind a please-get-the-camera-out-of-my-freaking-face grin.

"First things first; you can't attack the other guy's cockpit. Lucky me Liger here's got an armored plate to protect me, but that won't stop the judge from disqualifying you if you shoot the head. Just go for the legs or the body and you'll be fine."

"Also, Zoids are tough. They can keep on fighting even if they're missing a leg, or have a big chunk blown out of their side!" said Bit. "But they can be killed, and that's another rule. A Zoid can always survive unless its _core_ is destroyed." A rotating image of a blue-white sphere appeared beside the champion, about the size of a small beach ball. "Don't shoot the core, because you'll get disqualified, and it's bad sportsmanship!"

The camera panned back in to Bit's face. "And a _real_ warrior doesn't have to resort to dirty tricks to win, does he, Liger?" Bit asked cheesily.

_Affirmative Roar._

"Now we'll get my friend Jamie Hemeros to tell you about all the different battlemodes!" finished Bit, smiling but plainly relieved to be off the camera.

An hour later, the small, normally quiet Blitz team strategist finished explaining all the different battlemodes, and several people woke back up. Vic was listening eagerly, considering it was at least something new he could learn. Most of these people had already heard all this stuff anyway.

The camera cut back to the Blitz Team manager, Dr. Steve Toros, to explain a few more miscellaneous rules -and plug the model kits- before the lights came back on and the screen rolled back up. The same man came back in and rallied everyone.

"All right, that's all. You should check your mailboxes once you get home for an event schedule and competition listings for the kickoff event. It happens this Friday, so don't be late!"

Most of the crowd took off with a cheer.

As for Vic? Nervous as always, but oddly enough, some part of him was actually looking forward to Friday.

* * *

_Hope you liked it! Leave a review if so and I'll see you next time!_


	4. Friday Night Laser Lights

Chapter Four: _Friday Night Laser Lights_

_Disclaimer: I still don't own Zoids. Or any of the models, for that matter._

_

* * *

  
_

The street was abuzz once more with traffic speeding every which way, from solid pill-bug Gustavs towing blocky trailers to the small, caterpillar-like Molgas darting around lumbering Iron Kongs. Much of the traffic was heading to a large coliseum to the south of town, the site of the revived Class E Battle Division.

Some of the drivers, however, were a little more involved. They were fairly easy to spot, their Zoids painted in gaudy colors, often towed on trailers behind a Gustav.

One particular Zoid, however, was neither of those. In fact, nobody with half a brain would even consider taking it into combat.

Which made the fact that a future physicist was behind the wheel of the beat-up old Malder that much more ludicrous.

Vic Douglas, the nobody who'd barely even practiced before, was about to enter a real Zoid competition. Of course, most of the participants were almost as inexperienced as he was, but he was willing to bet that most of them had actually seen combat before.

An hour of congested traffic later, the snail-like Malder pulled up around the back of the coliseum. Vic checked a small flier taped to the inside of the blue-lit cockpit:

_Friday Night at the Coliseum_

_Zoid pilots arrive at 5 PM for check in and briefing_

_Check in at the back entrance (see attached map)_

_Prizes: _

_-Repairs for All Participants (Kickoff Night Only)_

_-$500 to Quarter-Finalists _

_-$1,000 to Semi-Finalists_

_-$2,000 to Losing Finalist(s)_

_-$5,000 to Winning Team or Pilot_

_See you on the battlefield!_

That didn't seem so bad. If he won two battles, he was at least guaranteed a little money, and at the very least he wouldn't have to pay for repairs to his Malder. Which was good, when he thought about it, because he was having trouble even paying for groceries after he bought the old Malder.

Still, if he could win some decent money battling, he could pay for this semester in college and hopefully work to get his scholarship back.

He stopped the Zoid and climbed out of the cockpit, the hinges creaking a little with a red puff of rust as he tried to push it shut.

A pilot passed him by, stifling a laugh.

Vic shot him a glare.

"You're entering with that pile of junk?" said the man, taller and thinner than Vic with a blond mullet. "Hope I fight you tonight."

Vic wasn't the type given to rash challenging, particularly when he'd never battled before. He turned back to shoving the snail's cockpit closed. It slammed shut with a creak and a bang, and the Malder bleeped and quickly retreated its head back, causing Vic to stumble up against the thick shell.

The pilot smirked and walked off. "Noob."

Vic straightened up and walked inside, brushing off the insult. Maybe this was a pilot thing, taunting your opponents, because everyone seemed to be doing it. If it had any appreciable effect in battle, he might try it too, but only after he had something decent to base his taunts on. A pile of junk old snail Zoid was not taunt-worthy material.

He reached the beginning of a longish line extending under a giant concrete arch of the coliseum, and looked around as he stood in it. A few places up was Blond Mullet, the guy who'd taunted him, and near the beginning, Vic swore he spotted the vampire guy from the sign-ups. In his mind, he'd nicknamed the guy "Fangs."

Vic reached the end of the line, presented his forms to the clerk, and received a slip with "53" on it.

"That's your pilot number," explained the clerk. "Go check the contest board to see who you're fighting."

Vic walked over to a giant screen amidst the crowd, showing who was battling who. "VICTOR DOUGLAS - 53" was connected via a horizontal line to "JULIE BROOKSTON– 09." Above that was a time: "1745." Vic checked his watch: 5:30 PM. His battle was one of the first ones up, in fifteen minutes.

He quickly headed to his old Malder, and ended up having to bang on the outside of the shell for five minutes before the snail finally woke up and poked its head back out with a sort of electronic yawn. "This is _not_ the time to snafu on me, buddy."

As if to infuriate him further, the Malder obediently opened its cockpit.

Vic's eye twitched somewhat, but he still climbed in. The cockpit refused to close.

The Malder rolled to the large Zoid gate, directed by a few brave souls conducting traffic along. A strange hybrid of a drive system that only really worked half the time, the Malder used a system of hidden wheels on its belly for traction, with a reverse-magnesser panel to anchor the machine to the ground. It was a simple system, really – standard magnessers could levitate aerial zoids and provide them thrust, so a reverse-magnesser would stick itself firmly to earth.

It did, however, have the downside of making the snail-type Malder excruciatingly slow, even when Vic opened the throttle full bore.

Nevertheless, it was working now, at least, and Vic could only pray that the temperamental machine wouldn't give out on him during his first battle.

He pulled through the gate and was instantly washed in a flood of bright light. The coliseum floor was enormous, a giant circle roughly six hundred meters in diameter, and the Zoids started on each side of it in large squares painted on the ground. The ground itself was hard-packed dirt to give most Zoids lots of traction. A few Gustavs were towing away the remains of the last vanquished competitor, and the victor, some sort of lanky mechanical fox, was strutting proudly out.

The cheering, roaring coliseum was so enormous that he couldn't even make out his new enemy. "Malder," he asked, "can you zoom in on what that enemy is?"

No response. Crap.

A pair of enormous screens, each at least the size of a football field, lit up above each side of the audience detailing the specifications of one Zoid vs. another. First up was his Malder, a rotating wireframe of the mechanical snail with speed, weapons, armor, and all that next to it. The screen showed him as having a mortar cannon, two pulse lasers and two pop-out beam guns, standard Malder equipment apparently, but Vic knew this old rust bucket only had the lasers.

The second image was a sleeker, more refined Zoid contrasting the cartoonish, bulging outlines of his Malder. The opponent was a Zoid resembling a small manta ray, and it hovered a few feet off the ground. The giant screen displayed "SINKER" in huge letters above the wireframe. This Zoid had a pair of laser cannons, a few torpedoes, and large thrusters allowing it to fly like an aircraft. Frankly, Vic was envious. It looked like a nice Zoid indeed.

Vic quickly reached up and yanked the cockpit closed with a metallic screech and a clang. His comm crackled to life just then.

"My name's Julie Brookston, pilot!" said his opponent, a girl who sounded around fifteen. "Get ready for a loss! My Sinker will make short work of your rusty old snail!"

"Er, uh, good luck to you too," Vic replied, closing the cockpit and shutting the comm off.

"Yo, Malder, you going to let me see out of this cockpit?" he asked, peering around in the blue-lit expanse of the cockpit. He was answered by the crude holographic wireframe representation of the arena, with a green checkerboard for the ground, and a polygonal approximation of the Sinker at the other end.

A small number displayed the time until the round began: 15….14….13….12…11…..

_All right, Vic, just do your best_, he thought. _First battle, and you get free repairs anyway._

"6…5….4…….3……..2………….1……….."

A hatch opened in an alcove in the stone wall, and a strange robot, anchored in place, called the fateful word:

"_**FIGHT!"**_

Julie's Sinker took off and shot upwards into the sky, while Vic in his Malder tried to keep the ray in his sights. The adrenaline was on now, the ex-student shaking a little in his seat.

Vic pushed the throttle forward to the halfway notch, and the manta Zoid curved around the snail as it accelerated. Vic pulled to the right, but the Sinker lined him up in her sights and let fly with a barrage of laser bolts, which scorched the thick shell of the snail.

He didn't like getting shot very much, so he pushed the throttle all the way up and veered hard left. The Malder didn't tip at all during the sharp turn. _Suppose there are some perks to driving a snail, _thought Vic_. This reverse-magnesser drive is a life saver._

The turn had caused the speedy Sinker to overshoot him, and Vic continued the turn, pulling out behind the rapidly disappearing ray. "Malder, let's see if we can tag that thing," said Vic, pulling back on the yoke and bringing the crude holographic crosshairs up to the speeding Sinker. He squeezed the trigger and sent a flurry of laser bolts her way.

Between Vic's inexperience and the Sinker's speed, nearly all his shots impacted on the transparent forcefield in front of the audience. One, though, managed to catch the ray on the right wing and scorched it a bit. Vic was ecstatic.

"Got her!"

The Sinker, however, had other plans, as it looped around and came in hard, firing for the base of the snail's "neck" area. The Malder panicked and retreated back inside its shell as a lucky shot tagged the back of its head.

Vic tugged on the yoke but it wouldn't budge. _Come on, you cowardly pile of scrap_, he thought, trying to get the lasers to at least fire at the incoming Sinker.

The comm buzzed to life again. "I've got you now!" came his opponent's voice, and a series of small sizzling noises outside confirmed that she was indeed pelting the thick shell with countless laser bolts.

Vic checked the holographic projection. "Wait, Julie, you're coming in too hard!" he yelled, only to be met with laughter and more sizzles. The Sinker wireframe was approaching the Malder with amazing speed, but she was swooping in at too hard an angle. Everything Vic knew about aerodynamic physics told him this was not going to end well.

"Malder! Stand your ground! She's not going to pull u-"

_WHAM._

The Sinker was unable to pull up in time, and its left wing whacked straight into the Malder's thick carapace. The Malder's reverse magnessers groaned from the strain. A screech and crash of crumpled metal outside confirmed the Sinker's fate, and Vic watched wide-eyed as the hologram ray smashed to the ground at over a hundred miles per hour, skidding and spinning along on its belly before coming to rest in a nearly unrecognizable pile of metal.

A loud buzzer sounded. "The winner of the first match is number fifty three! VICTOR DOUGLAS!"

Numbed, Vic forced the creaky canopy open and turned his Malder around, goggling at the pile of metal that once was a Zoid.

"Dear God, I hope she's okay."

From up above, a white circle grew steadily larger, becoming apparent that something was floating down to the ground. Julie Brookston's Sinker had ejected her split-seconds before the impact, doing for her what she didn't have the sense to do herself. She landed and ran over to her Zoid, tugging the parachute behind her.

Vic pulled up with the cockpit open. "I'm sorry about your Zoid, er, Julie…"

She cut him off. "Sinker's going to be fine, he's just knocked out. Glad I get free repairs, after all. This was my first battle, you know."

As if on cue, a red Gustav appeared, rumbling its engines. The announcer was yelling about "Red Scavenger Scrap Hauling" or some such.

Vic, still shaken, managed a sportsman's smile. "Good to hear that. This was my first battle too."

The kid grinned. "Yeah, well, I'ma beat you next time!" she said, disengaging the parachute and hopping in the Gustav.

Vic turned and pulled out of the arena, clearing the way for the next two competitors. _Only two more wins tonight and I can pay the dealer off._

"You know, I think we could do this, Malder. Two more wins sound manageable?"

As usual, no response.

Vic grinned.

* * *

_  
_

_Another chapter down! Leave a review and tell me if you liked it or not, and I'll see you next time!_


	5. Prime Time

_Chapter Five: Prime Time_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Zoids. Or a Zoid. Or a part of a Zoid. I just like writing fanfics about them._

_

* * *

  
_

Vic parked the Malder outside the coliseum and examined the damage. The old codger had at least been right about one thing: this Zoid was built like a tank. The snail's shell was scorched in several places from its opponent's laser cannons, with a few pits and dents, but it was still a tank, and it was still holding up fine. A long scar down the side of the tank-like shell indicated where the Sinker had crashed, and Vic suspected that one would be permanent.

_Guess it's time to examine this thing a little more, _Vic thought, popping the mortar cannon hatch with a press of the remote.

A chunk of the snail's upper shell folded down, much like the aerial-Zoid catapult on the much larger Hovercargoes seen ferrying freight around. The hatch creaked open with the hydraulic equivalent of arthritis, protesting the entire way, and Vic grabbed a thin railing on the front of the shell to steady him as he climbed.

There wasn't much there, only a few bare wires, probably to connect to the missing mortar. What really distressed Vic, though, was that once deployed, any enemy could get a really great shot into the internal structure of the snail via the gaping hole in the shell's front.

"Nice Zoid, I've never seen anything like that before. Is it an antique?"

Vic just about jumped out of his skin, and nearly fell off his Zoid as he whirled around. A rather attractive young lady was looking up at him.

"Zuh?" was all he managed.

The girl wasn't really paying much attention to him, just the Malder. Already she was looking it over with an experienced eye, and Vic began to get a little hot under the collar. If he had a grave weakness, it was dealing with women, particularly attractive ones around his age.

Exactly like this one.

"Zuh?" he repeated.

"Never thought I'd see a Malder," the girl said to herself. "These things went out of production decades ago. Look, the wheels used for low-speed movement which then transfer power to the reverse-magnesser drive system…"

What made things worse was that Malder was enjoying all this attention. The cockpit opened, beckoning the female pilot in.

Poor old Vic goggled. "You _traitor!_" he gasped, looking down from his perch atop the snail's shell. Before any more damage could be dealt, he skittered down the railing and jumped into the open cockpit.

The cockpit, however, refused to close. What made things worse was that not only did the Malder refuse to budge, the girl was walking around to check who the pilot was.

Some people say that pilots take after their Zoids, and vice versa. It couldn't have been truer than in this case, where Vic tried to retreat back into a shell he didn't have, scrunching against the side of the cockpit like a human barnacle.

"Er, uh, hey," he managed.

The girl peered, obviously a natural extrovert. She had dark hair that fell over a freckled, fair complexion. Worst of all, she had a very pretty face. "My name's Tanya," she said. "What's yours?"

Vic was currently occupying about 30 percent of his seat. "Erm, Vic. Douglas. Malder," he croaked.

The girl's face brightened. "Hey, I might get to fight you tonight! If we both win our next battles, then it's us two competing for a semifinal slot!"

"Wonderful," managed Vic, cracking a tiny smile towards the girl that would most likely hand him his butt on a platter tonight. "I, er, uh, take it you like this Zoid?"

"It's absolutely fascinating!" replied Tanya. "These Zoids were supposed to be out of production years ago. It belongs in a museum for everyone to admire."

Vic glanced around him, at the ratty seat, the flickering blue cockpit light, the musty heads' up displays, and the rusted joints. About the only thing worthwhile about this Zoid was its near-impenetrable shell. "Yeah, er, museum. Museum. Old."

Tanya checked her watch. "Whoops, better run, my next fight's up next. Can't wait to fight you tonight, Vic!" she said, shaking his hand. She flashed a quick smile his direction and dashed off towards a group of parked Zoids.

Vic almost melted in his seat. Then he slapped himself. "Come on, man, you've got to fight her tonight. Don't go all soft."

_Though,_ he figured, _it wouldn't hurt to watch her batt…er, check my next fight time._

He headed up to the registration area, where a few vendors sold hot dogs and popcorn and the like. Apparently, the competitors got their own reserved seating area to watch the fights.

Vic bought a bratwurst and put a near-unhealthy amount of mustard on it before taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully as he walked. He headed up the stairs to the main coliseum arena and sat down on one of the bleachers.

Soon enough, the huge screens lit up and displayed the two contenders for the match. First up was a velociraptor-type Zoid, very mechanical looking with joints and struts supported by bare hydraulics. It was lanky and quick-looking, and dubbed "GUN SNIPER." _Odd_, thought Vic, taking another bite, _I don't see any sort of sniper rifle on…whoa._ The Gun Sniper had turned around and pointed its tail at its opponent, extending a huge rifle from the tail.

"Ah. Hope I don't fight one of those," mused Vic, doubtful if even his Malder could stand up to a few of those shells.

As the Gun Sniper retracted its rifle and finished showing off, the screens displayed its pilot, "BRUCE DAVIS," along with his insignia, a striped feather within a circle of lightning. _Wonder if I can get my own someday,_ Vic thought.

The other pilot was none other than "TANYA CALLOWAY," so said the screens, piloting a Zoid called a "GODOS." He'd seen one of those at the dealer the other day, but it was more than he could afford. It was like a Tyrannosaurus out of a kid's book turned mechanical, walking upright in a comical fashion rather than the more streamlined fashion commonly depicted. It was a tiny Zoid, a bit higher than his Malder, and it didn't have much in the way of either melee combat or ranged weaponry.

This particular Godos was painted white with blue stripes down its back, and modified with a pair of small machine guns on its wrists. _Smart move,_ thought Vic, _that way she can point them anywhere the claws can._

A judge robot popped out of a hatch in one side and spoke the fateful word…

"FIGHT!"

And the match was on. The large velociraptor immediately rained a hailstorm of fire upon Tanya's Godos, from two Vulcan guns on the arms shelling it relentlessly as well as a belly-mounted cannon occasionally plugging a high-caliber shell its way.

The Godos was surprisingly quick given its awkward design, and Tanya darted around a large barricade to escape without a whole lot of damage.

From Vic's vantage point, he could see the battle fairly well, what each combatant was up to. The Gun Sniper looked around suspiciously, trying to spot which side of the large concrete wall the Godos would emerge from.

Tanya's Godos, however, just sat there. Literally, it just sat down.

_What on Zi is she doing?_ thought Vic.

A small hatch popped open on the back of the Godos, and a large-bore muzzle poked a few inches out of it. _Looks like some sort of mortar cannon_, he thought. _Smart move once again, Tanya. _

The Gun Sniper had backed off, turned around and deployed its huge sniper cannon, probably to shoot through the wall. A pair of large anchors had dropped down and secured the Sniper into the ground when gouts of fire and a cloud of smoke erupted from the back of the small Godos.

A hush fell over the crowd as the mortar shell arced upwards, trailing a little smoke and flame, before it plunged downwards onto the back of the Sniper. A terrific explosion ensued and the Sniper misfired, the shot harmlessly impacting on the transparent shield before the cloud.

Tanya let fly with another mortar shell and darted from around the barricade. Her twin machine guns opened up on the right leg of the Sniper, weakening it and tearing through hydraulics and supports, when the mortar shell plummeted down onto the Sniper's back, stunned as it was from the first.

Another large explosion and it was all over for the Gun Sniper. The right leg gave way and the large velociraptor crashed to the ground, smoke pouring from its hull. The judge popped out of the wall.

"The battle is over! The battle is over! The winner of this match is number forty-two, TANYA CALLOWAY, claiming her second victory tonight!"

The stands erupted with cheering and applause as Vic wolfed the remaining bratwurst.

"Yep," he mumbled through a mouthful of brat, "she's going to kick my ass."

He headed back down to his Malder, as he was next. En route, yet another pilot weirdo harangued him: this time, it was Fangs.

"Hey, Fangs!" said Vic, as the wannabe-vampire approached him.

"Veec-tor!" said Fangs, eyes alight. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Cormac Sullivan."

Vic had reached his Malder. "Mind if I call you Fangs?"

Fangs slitted his eyes, attempting to look ferocious. Vic stifled a laugh.

"Who are you fighting, anyway?" he asked, popping the canopy with a metallic screech that caused the other pilot to wince.

Fangs bared his namesake. "None yet: I'm scoping out the competition. I represent Team Night Wolf! We are Class D pilots, and are seeded into the final round."

_Team Night Wolf. Seriously?_

Vic winced at the pure cliché of the name. "Ah, I see. I'm fighting, er, this guy named Frederick Donne. Dunno what he uses."

"Ah, Fred-ereeck!" hissed Fangs. "He pilots a Black Rhimos! Truly a powerful Zoid."

Vic had seen one of those at the dealer. It was a rhinoceros Zoid weighing in at around 55 tons or so, with a pair of large-caliber assault cannons, a sensor tower and guided missiles. To top it all off, its horn was actually a giant drill designed to pierce armor and obliterate a Zoid's internal structure.

"I'm screwed," he observed.

"No, not completely, Veec-tor," replied Fangs. "It is missing the missiles and cannons, and Fred-ereek likes to use melee combat. Thus, it is vulnerable to fast, agile Zoids that can take advantage of its low maneuverability."

"Fangs?"

"Yes?"

"_I drive a giant snail._"

"Oh."

"Does that mean I'm screwed?"

"Yes, Veec-tor."

Well, there wasn't much hope for this match, but Vic bid good day to Fangs and gallantly climbed into the rusty old Malder's cockpit. Tanya was nowhere around for him to congratulate, though he'd most likely have asked to borrow her skill for this one.

"Good luck, Veec-tor. If you win this one you are truly a Zoid pilot indeed."

_Or the luckiest bastard this side of a Gojulas,_ thought Vic. "Thanks, Fangs. I appreciate it."

* * *

The lights in the Coliseum glared him straight in the face as Vic pulled in to await his fate at the hands of Frederick Donne. As he waited, he remembered what the briefing had said the other day.

"_Zoids are tough, but they can be killed if their core is destroyed."_

Zoids were living creatures, and Vic knew it. The rules expressly forbid attacking a Zoid's core, but accidents were always a possibility. Always.

"Malder, if you don't make it through this one…" began Vic.

The Malder gave a low electronic whistle.

"…then I at least want you to put up the best damn fight of your life. I'll do what I can to evade and dodge, but I need your help, OK?"

The Malder whistled back affirmatively.

Vic braced himself with some gallows humor. "Heh, this'll be the biggest snafu ever if we win."

The other gate opened and the massive rhinoceros stomped out. Though it wasn't a particularly large Zoid compared to stuff like Ligers, compared to the rest of the machines here it was an absolute juggernaut. Vic didn't want to hang around and see what sort of damage that horn could do.

The screens lit up and once again displayed his info, with a small question mark instead of an insignia, showing that he didn't have one. Following it up washis opponent's name, "FREDERICK DONNE," and his Zoid type, "BLACK RHIMOS." Vic was grateful that the Rhimos didn't have any real projectile weapons besides a quartet of popguns on the face, but this pilot was supposed to favor melee combat.

The judge popped out of the wall, and announced the battle: "FIGHT!"

Vic put the Malder in gear, feeling the reverse-magnesser drive kick in and clamp his wheels to the ground. The Rhimos loomed in his gun sights, and Vic poured a burst of laser fire into its front legs. Scorches and little pockmarks appeared in the tank zoid's thick armor, but it easily held.

_Hmph. That old coot was right about this Malder - these little pulse lasers won't do much against heavy armor._

Frederick Donne apparently wasn't given to comm chatter. His Rhimos snorted and belched a little steam from its nostrils before pawing the ground and charging forward with a bellow. The beast lowered its head and the horn revved to speed, ready to shred the snail's armor. The combined speeds of the two meant that the Rhimos was closing at a frightening pace.

Vic glanced briefly at the speedometer, and then the holographic heads' up display. The H-HUD showed a mere six seconds to impact.

Vic immediately cranked the control yoke as far right as it would go, and threw the throttle open.

The Malder responded and pulled off to its right, flattening Vic into the left bulkhead from the inertia. The snail executed nearly a 90-degree turn towards the nearby barrier, and the rhinoceros leaned hard into the turn to keep up. It was a Zoid designed to shred whatever was in front of it, not compete in a turning contest.

Luck was on Vic's side as the rhino simply couldn't make the turn and instead plowed into a pile of rubble. The crowd cheered as the rhinoceros stumbled and the snail's guns began pelting its legs with fire.

Donne's Rhimos, infuriated, bellowed and shook its head, tossing rubble everywhere. It stomped and whirled around to begin the charge anew.

A pounding noise alerted Vic to get the heck out of Dodge. He shunted the accelerator forwards and the Malder took off again, pulling around the barrier.

The barrier cracked, then exploded into a cloud of flying concrete rubble as the rhinoceros plowed through it, bellowing as it fired on all cylinders. The four small cannons on its head sent shells pinging into the thick shell of the Malder as the snail tried in vain to escape.

Sweat poured down Vic's forehead as the rhino bore down on him. He turreted the lasers around to face the rear and basically left them on autofire to ping the rhino's front legs. He pulled around another concrete barricade, which the Rhimos simply obliterated as it charged.

_Is there any way to beat this thing?_ thought Vic, as the Rhimos gained more ground on him.

An idea floated through his head. A crazy, ridiculous, completely absurd idea, but an idea nonetheless.

Vic slowed and pulled hard around on the yoke, pulling the same sort of perpendicular move he had earlier. Frederick, apparently, had wised up to it, and began to lead him to impact the slow-moving snail.

Vic counted the seconds to impact. _Two..._

_...one..._

_Now!  
_

He threw the throttle to "full reverse," and was promptly yanked out of his seat, held back only by his restraining harness.

The Malder stopped nauseatingly quickly and the Rhimos tried to correct its charge. Too late. Its shoulder plowed into the front of the Malder's shell and Vic could swear a huge foot missed his canopy by half a yard. The crowd cheered as the two machines crashed together. The spinning drill shaved a few inches of steel off the front of Vic's shell, making him wonder what it could do given a more solid hit.

The sheer inertia of the Rhimos pretty much blew out the reverse-magnesser system holding the old Malder firmly to the ground, but it stood its ground as the rhino plowed into it, tripped, and faceplanted. No doubt its pilot was shaken something awful.

The spinning drill of the Rhimos plowed into the ground under the dead shell of a Gustav. Its front legs had taken the brunt of the impact, and the armor was cracked in several places.

Furiously, the Rhimos stomped and bellowed, trying to get its face unstuck from the ground. Its leg actuators whined in protest, and smoke began pouring from its stabilizer caps.

_There - there's my chance._

His head still spinning, Vic turned the lasers on the nearest front leg of the rhinoceros, aiming for the smoking stabilizer caps. One blew in short order, and before long, the other.

Then the Rhimos yanked its head free of the ground, and staggered back around to face him. The leg he'd been shooting looked dead - all the Rhimos' weight was on its other front leg.

However, that massive drill was now pointed directly at him. This wasn't good. With the reverse-magnesser drive gone, the Malder was very prone to tipping over, meaning he could barely maneuver or drive. He wasn't sure if the Rhimos pilot knew it, but he wasn't going to let it happen, and turned the lasers on the other front leg of the rhinoceros.

Donne threw his machine into a charge while Vic fired madly into its remaining front leg to deaden it. His brain told him it was a futile gesture - everything he knew about Newtonian physics told him impact was pretty much a foregone conclusion. That drill was rapidly filling up his field of vision.

The leg blew out at 20 yards away, and the Rhimos faceplanted again, its sheer momentum plowing up a long furrow in the ground as it thundered towards him on its chest. Its terrible momentum forced that drill closer and closer to the Malder's cockpit, and Vic had a horrible vision of being mashed to a pulp.

The Rhimos ground to a halt a yard in front of him, eyes dark. The drill winding down was all Vic could see.

Oddly enough, the Malder was moving backwards. Had his instinct thrown the drive into reverse, or had the Malder?

No matter, apparently, as the judge popped out of the side of the wall just as the crowd erupted in a thunderous round of applause.

"The winner of this match is number fifty-three, VICTOR DOUGLAS, claiming his second win tonight!"

Vic breathed a hard sigh of relief. That battle had gone on entirely too long and nearly killed him once too many times.

"You," he wheezed at his Malder through gasps of breath, "are officially the biggest snafu in the universe. Hell, I'm naming you that."

Snafu simply whistled happily in response as they drove out of the arena.

* * *

_((Well, folks, that's the long-in-coming(as well as long) chapter 5, hope you liked it! Leave a review and I'll see you next time! CP))_


	6. Downtime and Insight

Chapter 6 – Downtime

_Disclaimer: I don't own Zoids. I'm just prodigiously bored. _

Vic was positively elated. Upon reaching the parking lot, he popped the rusty hatch and leaped out into the cool, still night air.

"Boo-YAH!" he hissed to himself, completely unable to believe his luck. A passing spectator and his girlfriend looked once in his direction, then hurried back towards the enormous stadium, giggling to themselves.

Vic couldn't care less. Somehow, in complete defiance of all logic, he had pulled victory from the jaws of certain defeat.

A shadow materialized from the gloom. "Excellent work, Veeec-torr!"

Vic looked over to see Fangs grinning his way over to him. "Oh, hey, Fangs," he wheezed, the adrenaline beginning to wear off.

Fangs bared a smile that was clearly intended to come off as unsettling. Vic couldn't care less right now.

"I was observing your last match, Veec-torr. Very intriguing battle style you have! Defensive, yet technical. Conservative, yet willing to make sacrifices. Truly intriguing."

Vic wheezed, leaning against his Malder's shell. "Er, yeah, sure, Fangs. I'm just happy I won, to tell you the truth of the matter. I was expecting to get my butt kicked."

Fangs smiled, a more natural model this time around. "You operate not on instinct, but reason, I observe."

"Well, I suppose," replied Vic, who was beginning to feel uncomfortable as the center of attention. "Hey," he said, "why don't we hit up the stadium and watch some battles? I've got a good hour to kill before my quarterfinal match is up."

"An excellent plan, Veec-torr!" said Fangs, the two beginning to walk across the parking lot. "Study the opposition so you may _crush_ them in battle!"

"…or I just like watching these things beat each other up, Fangs."

"…ah. A worthy goal, as well."

Vic grinned, rolling his eyes inwardly. Still on somewhat of a rush thanks to his recent victory, he decided he could use another bratwurst to calm his nerves.

The two found seats on the midpoint of the stadium, a battle already in process. The two competitors had definitely brought their A-game tonight, each piloting respectable machines in a heated battle.

Fangs, of course, took it upon himself to narrate _every_ aspect of the battle.

"Ah, the first competitor is known as Jules – he battles purely by reason and logic, just as yourself!" began Fangs, pointing down to the action below.

Vic watched a caterpillar-like Molga weaving in and out of the many obstructions on the stadium floor. It was painted a military olive-drab color, and looked exceedingly old. Nevertheless, it seemed to perform just fine. Its pilot preferred evasion tactics, picking his way through mouse-holes that only his small insect Zoid could fit through.

"…and his opponent is a fierce competitor, known as Brianne," continued Fangs, oblivious to the fact that Vic was only listening halfway. "She battles by instinct, becoming one with her machine."

A small catlike Zoid covered in retractable switchblades was leaping and bounding after the Molga. While clearly larger and faster than her opponent, her tactics seemed to be more or less singleminded in her pursuit. Nevertheless, she didn't seem to have any projectile weapons on her craft.

"…the Saberlion is a fierce machine," Fangs continued, "but it has no guns. Watch as she attempts to enter melee combat!"

Vic had almost completely tuned his friend out. _Mmm, bratwurst._

The Molga zoomed through a narrow tube, attempting to lead the Saberlion into a trap. No dice. The cat easily bounded over the obstacle, gaining on the little caterpillar.

"Ah, a clearing," Fangs dragged on, "now the Saberlion will have the advantage!"

The Saberlion broke into a flat-out sprint, easily overtaking the caterpillar. Its legs tensed, gearing up for a pounce.

_Why would the Molga pilot go into a clearing where he's at a disadvantage? It makes no sense, _thought Vic.

The caterpillar clearly had a plan. The pilot slammed on the brakes, and with less than a second to spare, the two large drive wheels spun in opposite directions. The Molga spun in place, gathering speed.

It was only then that Vic noticed that like any good caterpillar, the Molga had a pair of somewhat nasty tail stingers. Being that the drive wheels were located on the thorax, the entire length of the tail was being used as the handle of a spiked mace, with the tip of the tail as the mace's head.

_You gotta be kidding me…_

The Molga's tail impacted the side of the incoming Saberlion's front leg. The stingers drove deep into the armor before the momentum carried them through, ripping free most of the Saberlion's ankle armor. And a good chunk of its ankle, as well. The cat staggered.

…_wow. So this entire thing was a trap, _thought Vic.

The Molga stopped its rotation and began to make a getaway, but the Saberlion seemed enraged. It lunged forwards with a roar, impaling its own chest on the sharp tail stingers of the little caterpillar.

Beside Vic, Fangs smirked. "Aha, so the little insect thinks he can get away."

_What does that cat Zoid think she's trying to accomplish? _Vic thought. _It doesn't make any sense._

As if reading his mind, Fangs continued. "Strategy will be this Molga's downwall, Veec-torr. The Saberlion's pilot operates on instinct, and instinct will never steer you wrong."

It pained him, but Vic had to admit that instinct had logic trumped in this instance. The Saberlion and Molga were locked together, and the more the Molga tried to pull free, the harder the Saberlion fought. The cat was clawing, scratching and biting in a blind rage now, oblivious to the fact that it was working the stingers deeper into its chest.

The Saberlion then activated its trump card – the huge swept-back blade over its head slammed forwards, through the battered armor of the insect. The blade energized with some sort of energy, sizzling through the caterpillar's armor like a hot poker through ice cream.

The little caterpillar spun its wheels in despair, before it shuddered once, as if overcome by a sudden rigor mortis, before laying still. The Saberlion extracted itself from her prey, the face of the Zoid covered with black ichor-like internal fluid.

Down below, the Saberlion roared to the audience, who erupted into applause. Stunned, Vic's bratwurst missed his mouth, creating a mustardey splat-mark on his cheek.

"The winner of the battle is number thirty, BRIANNE RYIAK!" called the judge from below.

"…this, Veec-torr, is why you must have _instinct_ in your battles! The passion, the fight, the…"

"…the ridiculous repair costs." Vic finished for him, wiping his face. "Um, I don't think I'd be doing the whole melee thing. I drive a _snail_, remember?"

"Oh."

"Besides, they make guns for a reason. And targeting computers," Vic mused. _And armor, _he thought to himself, watching the cleanup crew extract the remains of the Molga while its pilot glumly walked off the field.

Fangs bared his namesake. "You seem to lack _passion_ for battling. You are here for the money, are you not?"

Vic wasn't too proud to admit he was. "Well, yeah, isn't everyone? I need money for college."

"But you have never experienced the true passion and experience, Veec-torr. Logic and strategy will only take you so far – the rest must come from in here," he finished triumphantly, poking Victor's skinny chest over his heart.

"My aorta?" asked Vic, doing his best to keep a straight face. This was _too _easy.

Fangs howled in frustration. A nearby mother picked up her kid and set him on the other side of her, giving the faux-vampire a dirty look in the process.

Vic shrugged. He knew exactly what Fangs was trying to get it – of course, he totally disagreed, - but it turned out it was a lot of fun to mess with his new friend.

Mercifully (for Fangs, at least), the next battle was up. Unlike the last battle, these two were clearly new to the sport; both machines looked as through they'd come out of Last Chance's bargain bin.

Kind of like Vic's Malder.

The first to enter was a Zoid that looked like the mechanical equivalent of a seventy-year-old. Modeled in an upright stance like Godzilla, yet only about five meters high, it sported blocky, stiff-jointed features, a disproportionately long tail, and a pair of small guns on its wrists. The scoreboard read "GORGOLAUNCHER."

"Ah, a veritable antique! Veec-torr, you should like thees one, it is so old nobody should know what to expect!"

Vic ignored him. The screens displayed "14 - JIM RENALDO," his insignia a fist made of stone.

The second Zoid was modeled after a chameleon. It slowly picked its way onto the field, yawned once, and uncurled its long tail. For such a small Zoid, it was surprisingly sluggish in its movements. The scoreboards displayed "MEGALEON."

Beside him, Fangs scoffed. "Hmph, a Megaleon! Truly a worthless Zoid for battle."

Vic was inclined to agree. Chameleons weren't known for their speed or agility, and the machine's armor didn't look particularly up to par either. The screens displayed "29 – ALRED GARRET," accompanied by the insignia of a blank circle with a riveted, porthole-like border.

The judge popped out and announced the countdown. Vic finished his bratwurst and leaned back in a state of bovine contentment.

"**_Fight!"_**

This match was interesting, if not as action-packed as the last. Both competitors had a clear shot at each other, but both machines weren't particularly well armed, so the initial volley was a bit underwhelming.

The Gorgolauncher had the upper hand in the firearms department, and its pilot was more than content to sit there and hold down the triggers.

The Megaleon, after a few seconds, did something rather astonishing, though not completely out of place for a chameleon.

It disappeared.

"No _way!"_ Vic said, his attention thoroughly garnered. The technology behind the chameleon's unique system was somewhat of a pain to maintain and repair, and it tended to suck up a lot of power. Cloaking was generally regarded as more work than it was worth. That some bargain-bin Zoid like this would have a working stealth system was a miracle in and of itself.

The fire from the Gorgolauncher continued, but quickly it was just passing through the chameleon's old spot, impacting on the wall.

The Gorgolauncher changed tactics, extending its long, Godzilla-like tail up and over its head. A panel slid back, revealing a single, enormous missile. Vic resisted the urge to crack an "overcompensating" joke.

_Seems like he's trying to pick up the infrared waves coming off that Megaleon. Zoids radiate heat, and I'm guessing that stealth system only warps the electromagnetic waves within a very short distance of the actual machine, _thought Vic. _Of course, it'll be a long shot to see anything at all, since infrared is still on the EM spectrum…_

The missile apparently achieved a lock, and soared up into the sky. The audience gave an "ooh" at the fireworks.

Apparently the Megaleon's pilot realized the jig was up, as the chameleon Zoid reappeared, perched on a thin wall like a lizard hunting flies.

"Ruling out some crazy sort of deus ex machina, it looks like that lizard's screwed," Vic observed, watching the missile reach the top of its arc.

"Yes, Veec-torr."

The missile began to lazily plummet. Its fuel expended, the missile was relying on its aerodynamic control surfaces to guide it to its target.

Oddly enough, the chameleon turned to face its impending doom.

And yawned at it.

The missile came screaming in and the screens displayed a calculated trajectory, courtesy of the Gorgolauncher's computers.

The Megaleon, however, had other plans. As the missile neared, its mouth opened wide –

…and a long, poly-fiber tongue was fired out of it _towards_ the oncoming missile. At one hundred meters, the tongue impacted the missile in the center.

Then, quick as lightning, the missile was yanked back in like a chameleon devouring a fly. The crowd gave a collective wince, expecting the missile to blow the lizard's head off.

But nothing happened. Vic grinned. He'd worked on devices back in engineering class that could instantly hack into simple computers and reprogram them wirelessly. While taking over an enemy Zoid was most likely against the rules, this Alfred Garrett must have found a loophole. An exceedingly clever one.

"Like I said, deus ex machina. I like this guy's style," Vic ruminated.

Just like that, the chameleon disappeared, missile still in its mouth. The audience went wild, cheering for the little chameleon.

Down below, the Gorgolauncher apparently felt cheated, because it began spraying a hail of fire in the Megaleon's direction. No dice. The chameleon must have moved.

There was hushed silence for the next thirty seconds, save for the staccato fire of the Gorgolauncher's rapid-fire weaponry.

Just like that, the Megaleon calmly reappeared seventy-five meters off to the Gorgolauncher's left side, missile still in mouth. The blocky little Gorgolauncher tried to turn in place –

and the chameleon fired its tongue, slamming the missile longways into the Gorgolauncher's leg.

A prodigious explosion illuminated the Gorgolauncher's side of the arena, and plainly visible chunks of semi-molten metal were seen flying from the epicenter. Vic thought he saw a leg.

The blast kicked up enough dust that the big air-conditioning fans had to be switched on. The force walls prevented hazardous battle debris from entering the audience, but the drifting dust and soot quickly had everyone coughing.

When the smoke cleared, there wasn't much left of the Gorgolauncher, save a crushed, squarish cavity – the core chamber – and a somewhat dazed pilot fifty meters away still in his parachute harness.

The chameleon had lost its tongue, but had undeniably won the battle – and the audience's applause. The judge announced the winner down below.

"You know," said Vic, grinning, "I think I could get the hang of this "strategy" thing."

Fangs simply grumbled.


	7. Physics and Preparations

_I own Zoids! _

_...Not really._

* * *

The cold sun had nearly set behind the stadium, projecting a feeble, smoggy haze over the city. Sitting in the pilots' section of the stadium, Victor Douglas yawned and checked his watch. **7:42** read the digital display.

Hm, that was odd. It felt like he'd been sitting here longer than that. They'd been watching battles for only a half hour.

Idly, he dislodged a bit of bratwurst from a molar, realizing he hadn't brushed his teeth since breakfast. The thought made him grimace somewhat. Leaning back, he watched the competitors exiting the field, and ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth.

"Yow!" A sudden bolt of pain in his inner cheek caused him to jerk upright.

Fangs glanced over, looking nonplussed. "Yes, Veektor?"

Vic scowled at nothing in particular, one eye screwed up. "Gah, that hurt. I probably bit my cheek during that last battle."

"And you did not notice?"

"Apparently not. Mustard's a good reminder, though."

Fangs nodded sagely, staring down at the arena. "Inn-teresting," he drawled, largely failing to achieve any sort of mystique. "A warrior oblivious to pain, lost in the thrill of battle."

"Eh," blinked Vic. "I'm not a Viking, Fangs." Small spines of pain still radiated from the wound.

"My mind likely just blotted it out. What with the whole 'gruesome spinning drill death ' thing from the Donne fight."

Fangs shrugged. "So. What time is your next battle, Warrior?"

Admittedly, Victor hadn't checked his fight times for a while, having been too distracted by the rush of (largely undeserved) victory. He opened a neatly folded piece of paper and glanced it over.

"Eight forty-five. I'd best head out."

Fangs quirked an eyebrow at him. "Nearly an hour away?" he asked quizzically. "Surely you don't need an hour to prepare?"

Vic turned back. "I do if I want a chance against _her._"

* * *

It was a long walk back to where he parked the Malder, and Vic's brain was already flailing at the prospect of battling Tanya.

_I'm screwed,_ he observed. _She's a far better battler than me. Plus her machine's in much better condition. With my reverse magnessers busted, all I've got are the wheels to drive me. I'll be slower and less maneuverable than usual._

To make matters worse, he'd be prone to tipping over, since the reverse-magnesser drive that anchored the Malder to the ground was blown out in the Frederick Donne battle. Anything over, say, fifteen to twenty miles per hour –or, a good mortar shot to the side—would upset his top-heavy snail like a fruit cart.

This last realization stopped the gears of his thoughts. _She knows_.

Tanya _had_ to know how the Malder's drive system worked. Just a few hours earlier, she'd been pointing out its components with an engineer's accuracy. Clearly, he'd have to plan for her knowing –and acting—accordingly.

He reached the Malder just then, the great armored lump of metal gleaming dully in the fading winter twilight. Already, he had the workings of a plan. Not a _good_ plan, mind you, but a passable one. One that he hoped Tanya wouldn't see coming.

Victor reasoned with himself as he worked on the Zoid. The Malder was, after all, a giant snail. Not the spirally-shelled marine conchs, but the high-backed, circular sort of land snail. Once on its side, the Malder was helpless. Unable to move, it could only wait for the competition to tear up its vulnerable underbelly.

However, the saving grace of the Malder was its exceptionally tough shell, which enclosed all of its weapons, save the side turret with the small pulse lasers. Though the other two weapons were currently missing, the hardpoints were still there.

It had two "pop-out" sections on said hardpoints, rather like the Hovercargo and its fold-open armor. One of them was the left side of the craft. Instead of folding open like the Hovercargo, however, the big circular plate pushed out, sideways, on hydraulic rails, away from the main body.

_That'll be my crutch_. _Literally and figuratively_.

After some time, a familiar voice interrupted his plotting. "Ah, Veektorr," it said from behind him. "Busy preparing for your fight?"

Victor nodded and failed to turn around. No doubt, Fangs was standing in some pool of moonlight –or a shadow or something—to look intimidating. He had to give the guy credit for perseverance, though. Nobody else could be as committed to being singularly _weird._

"Hey, Fangs," Vic said. The tone of his voice was clear: _Busy now. Bug me later._

"Victor," said Fangs, completely dropping the cheesy vampire voice.

Vic blinked, slightly stupefied. This guy had a normal voice?

He turned around. "Yeah?"

"No fooling around now, Vic," Fangs replied. He leaned casually against the Malder's shell, wearing none of the fake posture of his _Dracula_ act. "Tanya Calloway is a better pilot than you, and she's driving a superior zoid. You're going to lose."

Vic didn't bat an eyebrow at old news. "And?"

"You battle by reason and logic alone, Victor," the young man replied, giving him a shrewd look, "and you're up to something. What is it?"

"Well, _that's_ an odd question," Vic countered. "I'm going to go in there, stand my ground and shoot her zoid until it stops moving. I'm a realist, Fangs – there's not much else I _can_ do at this point."

It was a blatant lie and he felt odd saying it, especially when he was really rather proud of the plan he'd just cooked up. Nevertheless, he didn't trust anyone here –even his new acquaintance—farther than he could throw them.

Fangs maintained that odd look of his, like he was staring right through Vic's head at some point behind him. "Very well," he replied. Vic had the feeling he hadn't been quite convincing. In fact, he was pretty confident he'd just come off as slightly neurotic. Not that there wasn't some truth to _that_, he realized.

Vic checked his watch again. **8:26**. Yeesh, time had just flown. A hard knot in his stomach reminded him that he really was, in fact, quite nervous about this match.

Winning or losing would make the difference between paying off that awful old man at the junkyard and having HeliCard charge him some outrageous premium. Ah, money woes.

"Fangs," he said, "I've got to run. See you on the other side, eh?"

Fangs popped his namesake back in, slinking back into that cheesy vampire/werewolf hunch he liked to wear. "Good luck, Veektorr!" he grinned, baring his teeth.

Victor popped open the Malder's rusty cockpit and climbed in. The displays flickered a bit when he plunked down, and the zoid made little electronic 'musing' noises around him. To Vic, the Zoid sounded tired, weary of battle.

"You and me both, pal," he told the machine.

The old screens showed the hydraulic systems were still working. _Good_, thought Victor. _I'm sunk without the side pop-out door functioning._ He retrieved a piece of paper and a pencil, and hastily sketched out a physics problem, hoping he got the locations of the masses correct.

The Malder weighed 34.6 tons, and had to lean at, say, a thirty-degree angle to engage the wheels. That required a hell of a lot of hydraulic pressure. He blinked at his calculator, hoping the hydraulics were up to the task. Assuming, again, that he got the masses correct. Alas, there wasn't any more time to double-check his work, and he had to get checked in for his next fight.

The battered snail's engines thrummed to life behind him, and he drove to the check-in station. A couple of promoters were unrolling a big sign reading _"RED SCAVENGER SCRAP METALS," _featuring a stylized, cartoonish Gustav carting off a trailer's worth of broken, trashed zoids. They all had big grins on their mechanical faces, apparently thrilled to meet their Grim Reaper. Vic cringed, looking at their dead smiles.

The usual crowd of techs set down their cigarettes and gave his machine a once-over. Finding the drive system still working and the laser cannon on safety, they declared the Malder fit for battle –well, as fit for battle as the beaten tank was going to get. The foreman pressed a remote.

The traffic light hanging between the huge gate flicked from red to green, and the techs waved him through.

Vic Douglas exhaled slowly, and drove through the gates.

"_Here goes."_


	8. Showdown

The arena was as unwelcoming as ever.

Harsh floodlights pierced what little night vision he had left in their glaring wash, and the packed coliseum roared around him. He suddenly felt very, very small.

That's when his comm crackled to life again. "Hey there," came Tanya's familiar voice. "You all set for our fight?" she asked, her tone coming off like a razor blade in honey.

To his credit, Victor Douglas –student of science and Zoid-battling novice—demonstrated a remarkably even tone just then. "Suppose I am."

The announcer's voice was booming something about Tanya's Godos, then segued into a brief plug for the concession stand. Apparently, whoever was writing his cards didn't consider this fight to be worth watching much. They had a point: a banged up, sluggish snail pitting itself against a nimble, better piloted 'mech armed to the teeth was either a glutton for punishment, or just plain crazy.

_Or both_. Vic gripped the control yoke with one hand, synchronizing his breathing with the steady _thrumm, thrummmmm _of the engines behind him.

The judge counted down…

"_Five…four…three! Two!"_

"_ONE!"_

"_**FIGHT!"**_

The gong clanged, signaling that the fight was on.

Immediately, Tanya's Godos leaned back and pointed a wrist at Vic's Malder.

_TUDD-DD-DD-DD-DOWWW!!_

The Malder shuddered under the impact of heavy munitions. Alarms sprang to life as armor blew out in large chunks.

Eve's light, what was _that?! _Vic cursed under his breath. He opened the throttle and the wheels dug in: the Malder ground forward. More shots ricocheted off the Malder's thick shell, chewing the armor away alarmingly fast.

Tanya's voice cut in over the comm unit. "Evening, Vickie," she taunted, all niceties forgotten for battle. "I swapped out one of my machine guns between battles," she crowed, "and this autocannon's gonna punch holes in your shell like it's made of cardboard. C'mere!"

Vic held on to the yoke as another volley ripped into his shell. _Evidently, that's not all she's changed_.

The 'Dr. Jekyll' Tanya that analyzed his mech and quipped about battles with him had, apparently, morphed into a Miss Hyde, focused and feral. Vic pictured Tanya with a deranged grin, her posture hunched over like Leena Toros on a bender. She cackled mightily, emptying huge autocannon shells into his machine.

Great. Not only did Tanya have him outskilled and outgunned, she had way better resources to draw upon. Likely, she was the progeny of some professional battler or rich family, which would explain the luxury of multiple hardpoints and military-grade explosives.

"Just get me out of this fire, Snafu." Vic maneuvered his Malder behind a large cement outcropping before the autocannon roared once more. The blasts tore giant holes in the thick concrete behind him and their force turned the concrete to powder, punching craters into the Malder's port-side shell.

His heart thundering in his chest, Vic put the Malder in gear again and pulled out from behind the concrete. Snafu put on more speed, making tracks for cover. And, hopefully, out of the firing arc of that wrist cannon.

He _hoped_ he'd seen it right. Apparently, it was some aftermarket modification that had a lot of kick to it. If that was correct, that lightweight Godos would have to brace itself before firing. And that meant he could get out of its firing arc, and away for the time being.

Snafu bleeped, indicating further armor gouging on the port-side shell. Vic swore again. He needed that side's pop-out section to work. He slammed the brakes on and was rewarded with a metallic screech and a hard swerve to the left. The top-heavy Malder swayed dangerously in place, threatening to topple.

A split second later, the Malder settled onto its wheels, Tanya's Godos now within the lasers' narrow firing arc.

Vic didn't waste any time. He squeezed the trigger hard, and the two pulse lasers spat a constant buzz of searing light towards the little machine. At the epicenter of his volley, the thin armor of the Godos visibly bubbled and smoked, turning to glowing slag.

Tanya's Godos just ate the fire, unlocking, turning and bracing itself again within one fluid movement. Vic did likewise in his cockpit, anticipating what was coming next. A volley of autocannon shots slammed headlong into the front of the Malder's shell, making a sound not unlike a thirty-ton jackhammer. Jolted from impact, Vic's reticule went wild, raking a line of scorch marks over the arena.

Vic steadied himself and glanced at the damage screens, noting that his frontal armor was overstressed and cratered, holding itself together on a prayer. "Thank Eve you're built like a tank, Snafu," he muttered, eliciting a bleep from the machine.

Tanya's machine was off and sprinting. Victor furrowed his brow. _I knew it!_ he thought, furiously. She couldn't just keep drilling through his shell with that gun, because that Godos, being a smallish zoid, couldn't carry much ammunition. Ergo, she had to be saving at least one autocannon volley to finish him off.

_Once, of course, she's tipped me over in melee combat, and has a shot at the Malder's underbelly. Time to put this plan into action._

Vic threw the throttle down and pulled away, running parallel to the arena wall.

"Trying to get away?" taunted Tanya over the comm, in a voice that was not at all convincing. He knew the jig was up, and pulled the yoke back, rotating his lasers to face the Godos.

Too late – Tanya was out of his firing line like a flash. _Damn,_ he thought,_ that Godos of hers is agile!_

And then, Tanya was gone, lost somewhere in this concrete and metal hell. Vic saw her on the radar screen. She wasn't moving.

He counted eight long seconds with nothing from the comm. Nothing, besides the thrumming of engines behind him and his own heartbeat pounding in his throat.

Vic furrowed his brow. He didn't like this. Why was she hiding? Had his own fire gotten her spooked, perhaps thrown off her momentum? Was Tanya the cowardly sort who only engaged in one-sided battles?

That couldn't be it. There had to be some other explanation for this. He was forgetting something, he knew it -

_BLAM._

Tanya's mortar shell burst against the wall to his right, creating a massive shockwave that picked up the Malder and threw it sideways. With a resounding crash, the thirty-four ton snail came to rest on its left side amid a considerable plume of dust.

Inside the cockpit, Victor's head spun. That blasted mortar cannon! Vic cursed himself for forgetting it in the heat of battle.

His crippled Malder wasn't out _yet_, but with the audience howling for his blood, and Tanya out there in her death machine, it wouldn't last much longer.

Tanya's radar dot sprinted out of hiding, hustling towards him. Her laughter coursed over the comm.

Just then, Vic remembered the starboard lasers. He grabbed the yoke, with stars swimming before his eyes, and swept the two pulse lasers up and back. His radar wasn't too much help, but it was enough to find Tanya and shoot back.

More importantly, he wanted to prove that his zoid wasn't out of commission _just yet._ The streams of light lanced out again, sweeping a blackened streak across the Godos' midsection. The audience loved it, eager for more destruction.

The sustained fire from the lasers forced Tanya back under cover. The radar still showed her closing, though, using the broken bunkers for cover.

There was an odd, intermittent spanging sound on Snafu's shell. Vic realized it was the machine gun on her Godos' other wrist. _Eve's light_, he thought_, she's trying to shoot my laser turret off_. The radar showed the Godos within ten meters of his downed Zoid, dancing around far too quickly for his laser guns to turret.

Time for the real plan. Vic mashed a button marked "PORT-SIDE POD BAY" and prayed. There was the sound of hydraulic pumps kicking in behind him and the whole Malder shuddered. Pressure warnings popped up on the screens and Vic prayed Snafu wouldn't burst a hydraulic main. The screens flashed, a couple buttons blinked menacing red colors, and there was this odd bleeping sound…

…and then slowly, like something out of a B-zombie flick, the battered Malder began creaking back upright. Vic's heart hammering like a piston in his ribcage, he threw the drive system full forwards, rewarded with the sound of wheels spinning in air.

Then, the left wheel dug in and the crippled Malder swung about the point where its improvised crutch dug into the ground.

The Godos loomed into his targeting reticule, and Victor held down the triggers for all they were worth, pummeling the little Godos with the incendiary force of the lasers. Armor bubbled and exploded away in big vaporizing globs, structure began to give way, and sparks erupted out of one of the Godos' hips, causing the machine to lurch wildy.

Tanya Calloway wasn't some pushover like Frederick Donne or Julie Brookston. In a fury, she used the remaining leg to launch her zoid bodily into the Malder, colliding in a crash of metal and driving the big snail back a couple meters. The crowd roared its approval, chanting for blood.

Lost in the excitement of combat, Tanya snarled gleefully at him over the comm, punctuating each word with the crash of metal on metal. "YOU." Crash. "ARE." Blam. "GOING." Smash. "DOWN." Wham. The gripper claws swiped furiously at anything they could get at. One tore off the laser repeaters, while the other scrabbled at the rusted hatch on top, trying to pry it open.

Victor realized he was grinning devilishly. For the first time tonight, he wasn't just fighting for the money. Something was genuinely _awesome_ about kicking ass in a thirty-four-ton war machine for fun and profit.

Through the damage sirens and the infernal screech of metal on metal, Vic just laughed. He threw the throttle wide open, crashing his bulkier zoid into Tanya's machine. The smaller Godos skidded backwards, smoke and sparks pouring from its knees.

Vic held the shuddering yoke steady. He'd steamroll her under thirty-five tons of drivetrain and armor!

"Where's your trump card now, Tanya?" he taunted. His teeth ground to beat the gears of his machine.

As if to answer him, two things happened in rapid succession.

One, the entire head of Tanya's Godos burst from its mountings and sailed away from the body.

Two, the Godos' mortar cannon fired inside its own hull.

_**BLAM.**_

The Godos exploded, and with it, Vic's world.

The force of the blast blew a huge hole in the snail's shell and drove the Malder straight into its own struts, which gave way with a sickening scream of rending metal and breaking electronics. Before his video screens gave out, Vic saw a slagged frame toppling over, smoking like a charred hunk of poultry.

And with an earsplitting crash from both zoids, the battle was over.

* * *

Up in the stands, two spectators munched popcorn idly. "Daaammn," said the first. "Looks like a tie from here. Escargot, anyone?"

His friend groaned. "Lousy joke. That's the one I told you about. Do you think we could use him?"

The first one swept a shock of blond hair out of his eyes. "Run by me again," he said, taking a pull off a watered-down soft drink, "what he _told_ you his plan was."

The second one grinned, showing two very prominent pop-on vampire fangs. "He just said, 'I'll go in there and shoot it until it stops moving.'"

Over the loudspeakers, the announcer's voice blared, announcing the results. The battle for tonight's semi-final slot was, in fact, a draw, with neither competitor able to continue. The two were given honorary semifinal slots.

The first one nodded. "Discrete, money-grubbing, and can be surprisingly devious. Even a little paranoid."

Finishing off a fry, he took another pull from the drink. "Sounds _exactly_ like the sort we could use around."

* * *

Victor blinked woozily. Everything around him was oddly quiet, and the Malder was on its side. All the screens and buttons were dark.

Vic unstrapped himself and popped the hatch, unfolding himself from the machine's cockpit. What greeted him was an amazing amount of destruction. The Godos lay on its side, barely recognizable as a Zoid. Its head rested a couple dozen meters away. Next to him, the hulk of his Malder was still, save for one underbelly wheel lazily spinning like a last act of defiance. The explosion had driven the hatches straight into the internals like stakes. Vic rubbed his head groggily.

"Oi!" shouted a familiar voice. "You _devious_ sonuvvabitch!"

It was Tanya. Vic turned around, expecting to see her dark-eyed face contorted in fury, but was pleasantly surprised: Tanya was standing atop the disembodied head of her Godos, wearing a psychotic imp-grin that wouldn't be out of place at the local asylum. "That was," she yelled, "the _best_ fight ever. Ev-var. You had that all planned out, didn't you?"

Victor offered a polite smile, scratching the back of his head modestly. But his eyes told her everything: _Yeah. I had you and your mortar-spewing machine beat, Tanya._

"You blew the living hell out of both of us so I wouldn't get the win, didn't you?" he asked.

As Tanya opened her mouth, loud diesel engines cut in as the announcer's voice blared. "_Mid-battle cleanups sponsored by Red Scavenger Hauling! Remember, for the fastest scrap hauling around, trust Red Scavenger!"_

Tanya's response may have been drowned out by the announcement, but Vic didn't need to hear it - he would have done the exact same thing.

A pair of dark red Gustavs rumbled onto the field, each towing a single trailer covered in mechanical arms and cranes. Each one had the large Red Scavenger banner with the cartoon zoids draped over its radar tower. They crunched big slabs of concrete and rebar under their treads.

Tanya jumped off her Godos' head and waved one down, while the other split off and headed for Vic's Malder. They loaded the two machines in a matter of minutes, shoveling piles of Tanya's Godos and Vic's Malder onboard with their cranes.

Vic jumped onto the Gustav's trailer next to his Malder, and a worker helped him up. "How's my Zoid look?" he asked. He practically had to yell over the heavy rumble of the Gustav's engine.

The Gustav jolted into motion, causing both of them to sway. The tech glanced the Malder over as they rode.

"Not bad," he drawled. "I've seen 'em worse. Good thing your repairs are complimentary."

"No kidding," Vic replied. That's what the flier had advertised, anyway.

"Yeah," answered the tech. "Specially somethin' like this Malder. Cheap to fix – they're just a pair of wheels and a few dozen tons of poured metal. Simple and effective - you could learn a lot of things from this Zoid."

The tech probably meant it offhandedly, but there was a kernel of wisdom to it. The Malder was finally down, but like a boxer, it'd be back up for another fight. It didn't just crumple and die like the Gun Sniper, it tanked suicide-blast mortars and crazed rhinoceros Zoids alike. Not to mention that lunatic in the Sinker.

Nope, the Malder wasn't a flashy machine, but it was singularly tough. Its nickname 'Snafu' was well deserved – the thing could handle pretty much anything thrown at it, a rolling magnet for trouble and lunacy.

Toughness, that's what Vic needed. After repairs, he'd plow through these leagues, slowly but surely, and earn back that money.

_Bring it_.

* * *

_Author's Note: It's been a while - but I figured this story deserved at least a decent conclusion. Door's open for more if the zoid bug bites me again. Hooray for zoidbug, yeah?_


End file.
